


Think Good Thoughts

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [13]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Light Angst, Look I know xmas was like four months ago but this just sort of happened, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Patrice goes with Brad to Halifax for Christmas. Brad isn't aware how much he's actually talked about Patrice to his family. Said family is confused about the nature of their relationship. Mayhem ensues.





	Think Good Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This is just... idk where it even came from. As noted in the tags, Christmas was like four months ago. This is kind of a reverse of the fake-dating-trope, where instead of trying to convince someone they're dating Brad's family thinks he and Patrice are together when they're actually not. There is a tiny bit of angst but it's manageable and brief.

“I can’t believe you managed to convince your mom,” Brad snickers for the hundred-thousandth time as they drive.

Patrice rolls his eyes. “I promised I’d be with them for New Years… and you know, I’m still not completely sure why I had to. Did your mom actually give you a _reason_ she wanted me to come see your family for Christmas?”

“Nope, she just kind of insisted I bring you with me,” Brad shrugs. “I don’t really understand why, either. Thanks for agreeing, though. She would’a bit my head off otherwise, you’re a good friend.”

“Well, you do kind of need your head still attached to your body to be a productive team mate.”

Brad snorts, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. It’s only a couple more minutes until they get there, and he can’t help wondering how well Patrice will actually do - sure, he’s a great hockey player because he’s so adaptable, but on the ice he only has to put up with one Brad. Dealing with an entire family of Marchands might be too much even for him.

“Are we going to be eating a deer?” Patrice asks as Brad pulls into the driveway.

“No, deer season ended December 8th. We’re going to have ham like everyone else… don’t worry, you won’t be eating Bambi,” he teases.

“I wasn’t worried, just curious,” Patrice answers. “Your family’s big into hunting and everything, so I thought-”

“It’s cool, bro. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Things get weird almost immediately once they go inside, because Brad’s parents, grandparents, sisters and brother all insist on hugging Patrice. It’s not… the most abnormal thing ever, but neither of them were expecting it. Patrice rolls with everything, though, including them all saying how glad they are Brad finally brought him over. What’s _not_ unexpected is when Jeff teases Patrice by saying that Brad just won’t shut up about him and it’s surprising he doesn’t have a halo or something.

“See? It’s not just me, Saint Patrice,” Brad grins after punching Jeff in the arm as hard as he can.

“For the last time, Bradley, I’m still not a saint,” Patrice groans, which is met with laughter from everyone.

Tonight’s only Christmas Eve, so dinner isn’t as big a production, but his mom and his grandma are getting some of tomorrow’s stuff ready beforehand and that means everyone else is banished from the kitchen, especially Brad and Jeff, who keep trying to steal the olives. Patrice, because he’s Patrice, sits politely in the living room and talks about hockey with Brad’s dad. Brad still hasn’t learned his lesson, though, and Patrice laughs when he stumbles into the living room, holding the back of his head where a wooden spoon was sent flying into it.

“Don’t be such a baby, you get hit all the time at work,” Jeff laughs.

“Yeah, at work I have a helmet!” Brad points out. “Come on, I did all the distracting, now cough up.”

“Nope,” his brother grins, cramming the entire fistful of olives into his mouth just so Brad can’t have any.

“Can’t you be less of a dick? It’s Christmas and all that shit,” Brad demands.

This back-and-forth lasts about two seconds longer before it devolves into a wrestling match on the floor, which never ends well for Brad. This time is no exception, because (like always) the conclusion is Jeff holding him down by sitting on his back. Patrice and Melissa come to his rescue while Rebecca, his dad and his grandpa are fine with just laughing at him.

“Are you okay?” Patrice asks, sitting them both on the couch and looking at him carefully.

“Oh yeah, this happens all the time,” Brad grins, waving a hand.

And then, from the kitchen: “I hope you enjoyed those, Jeffrey, because you can’t have any tomorrow!”

“Aw, come on, mom!” Jeff groans, the same as he always has since they were kids.

“Usually you’ve got pads on, though,” Patrice points out, somehow able to ignore the ruckus.

“Huh? Oh, no I mean it happens all the time just like this,” Brad clarifies. “We’ve been beating each other up since we could walk.”

“You’re half-right,” Jeff snickers as he reaches for the box of beer on the coffee table.

“Dick.” Brad darts his hand over and snatches the bottle away to drink for himself, then at the last second thinks better of it and offers it to Patrice instead. “So, is the unrestrained chaos killing you yet, Mr. Perfect?”

“No, because you calling me perfect is still more annoying,” Patrice deadpans before cracking the beer and taking a long gulp of it.

Brad snickers and grabs his own beer, content to just sit beside his friend and drink for a minute. It’s not quiet, because it’s never quiet with this many Marchands under one roof, but it’s slightly calmer than it was a few seconds ago. His siblings all bitch about work while his dad and grandpa keep talking hockey with Patrice, who gets made fun of for having a family of Habs fans.

“It’s not my fault, that’s where I’m from,” comes the usual answer, perfectly free of bitterness or defensiveness because he’s simply stating a fact. “And I’m not a Habs fan. I used to like the Nordiques.”

This is the moment Brad realizes how exhausted he is from driving, so he finishes his beer and sinks into the couch for a second and then Patrice is shaking him: “Brad, you’re drooling on my shirt.”

“Huh?” he asks, not really able to open his eyes for a brief moment. Then he realizes what’s going on - he completely passed out and ended up leaning on his friend’s shoulder. “Oh.” Brad wipes the corner of his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry about that.”

“Does he always do this?” Rebecca asks.

“Sometimes if we sit next to each other on the plane,” Patrice nods. “It’s not the first time he’s slobbered all over me.”

“I don’t slobber,” Brad insists.

“Only because I always wake you up and stop you,” Patrice chuckles.

“I have photographic evidence,” Jeff grins, pulling up a shot on his phone from a couple minutes ago of Brad slumped over onto his best friend, who’s sitting there being way too nice because he won’t wake Brad up from his nap just yet. “Soon the whole world will know!”

“If you put that on Facebook I’ll kill you and nobody will find your body,” Brad snaps, grabbing for the phone unsuccessfully.

“Too late, it’s already up,” his brother answers before breaking down in hysterics.

“Brad, it’s just a picture, you’ll be fine,” Patrice sooths. “The whole team already knows you drool on me anyway.”

“Yeah, but if I’m going to be embarrassed by online media it should be my own fault,” he grumbles. That’s when he notices it’s almost 10:00 and both his grandparents have gone home until tomorrow. “Maybe I should just go to bed…”

And then things get weird again, because even though there’s two guest rooms and his siblings are all within driving distance, Brad and Patrice are both directed to the same one.

“I can just sleep on the floor,” Brad offers, because if his parents are having it be this way there’s probably a reason for it. Maybe the ceiling is leaking again. He’ll ask tomorrow.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Patrice argues. “We’ve shared a bed before, this shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Yeah, but you also promised you’d never bring that up again,” Brad protests.

There was a time, many years ago, when they were sharing a hotel room on a road trip. Brad was twenty three years old and very drunk after a loss, and accidentally crawled under the covers with Patrice, who was (as always) too nice to wake him up and send him to his own bed. Brad doesn’t remember any of this; he only knows that he woke up hungover snuggling his team mate.

Patrice gives an exasperated sigh. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Bradley. It’s just two nights, and you’re not hammered this time, so it’s fine. My biggest problem with what happened before is that you didn’t ask first.”

“Oh, well, if I knew I just needed to get _permission_ for drunk cuddles…” Brad answers sarcastically.

“Just get in bed,” Patrice groans, but Brad can see the laugh trying hard to escape.

When they lay down, they’re strategically facing away from each other and not touching. Brad dreams that he’s trying to play with just one skate, until finally he takes the blade off an opponent’s stick and tapes it to his foot. Then it changes to his gloves being gone, and Pasta goes _here use mine_ but the fingers are missing for some reason. When Brad wakes up, he’s wrapped together with Patrice in a very scandalous position - chest to chest with arms and legs around each other. As an added bonus to his panic, he also has a hard-on, so it’s a relief when he hears Patrice snore quietly and realizes his friend is still sleeping. Brad thinks of something horrible to make it go away, which ends up being the incident where Acciari’s face got smashed so that he lost of a bunch of teeth and had stitches holding his mouth together.

In an odd turn of events, when Brad tries to move away, the jostling causes Patrice to grumble, pull him even closer, sigh, and fall right back to sleep. It makes Brad start to doubt the validity of his friend’s version of the drunk snuggling incident. There’s no escaping, though, unless he wants to be a dick and start shoving, so Brad resigns himself to this entrapment and then wakes up about an hour later without realizing he fell asleep again.

This time, though, he’s able to get free, and it rouses Patrice for real. “Sorry I didn’t ask first,” he teases as he rolls away (mostly to cover the awkwardness).

“Good morning to you, too,” Patrice answers, straightening out his clothes and stretching.

Rumpled and messy-haired like this, he’s… even more gorgeous than usual. Brad doesn’t know where that thought comes from and he ignores it in favor of pulling on jeans and a flannel, and they go downstairs for breakfast without saying another word about the disputably-accidental cuddling. There’s pancakes and donuts (despite Brad’s lackluster protests every year that he’s a professional athlete and shouldn’t be eating that stuff) and he expects Patrice to quietly ask if there’s fruit or something else boring and healthy, but his best friend is much too kind for that and allows Brad’s mom to stuff them both with pancakes.

His grandma comes over to help his mom cook the rest of dinner, which Patrice seems confused by given that breakfast just ended.

“It’s always like this,” Brad shrugs as they once again end up in the living room; there’s some lame Christmas movie playing on the tv, but it’s just for background noise. “Food for eight people… nine, actually, since you’re here. Doesn’t your family have to do something similar?”

“Not really, we go to my grandmother’s house and everyone brings part of the meal with them… except me, I can’t cook.”

“That sounds way more efficient,” Brad comments.

His sisters and his grandpa show up at about 11:30 for lunch, while his brother is a few minutes late (because of course he is). They all eat sandwiches and then do presents; even not knowing him that well, they each give Patrice something too. Brad actually put a lot more thought into his gift for Patrice than he did the ones to his family - they were hanging out on an off-day a few weeks ago and he’d carefully managed to figure out the exact sizing and brand of that beat to shit Nordiques sweatshirt that his friend loves so much. It took longer than it should’ve, but Brad eventually managed to get a new but otherwise identical one.

Patrice opens Brad’s gift last, and it’s not just his face… his whole being lights up. “This is really nice, Brad.”

“The other one’s full of holes and has sweat-stains,” Brad remarks. “I know you won’t throw that one out, but now you’ve got a nicer-looking one to wear in public that’ll actually keep you warm and shit.”

In exchange, Patrice gives him one of those indestructible military-type wristwatches since his old one got destroyed after practice last month (it fell out of his bag and someone wearing skates stepped on it). Brad actually feels really bad about it, because this watch probably cost like $200 while he scrounged up a thirty dollar sweatshirt for his best friend, but he buries that for right now because it’s definitely not the time or the place.

Then this happens, as Brad’s adjusting his new watch: “How long have you guys been together?”

Brad glances over at Melissa and frowns. “Uh… shit, how many years have I been on your line, Pat?”

“Too many,” Patrice answers, then smiles. “I’m kidding. It’s been awhile, though.”

“No, not in hockey, like, _together_ together,” she clarifies.

That makes them both freeze, share a look for about a second, and then carefully avoid making eye contact at all.

“Wait, ‘together’ like… you think we’re dating?” Brad asks, confused.

“Aren’t you?” his other sister chimes in.

“No, we’re just friends,” Patrice answers, sounding absolutely baffled.

“That’s not what it looks like when you’re on tv,” Rebecca argues. “And Brad never shuts up about you when he talks to us.”

“Oh… oh, fuck,” Brad mumbles. He has no idea how to react to this except to also add, “Well at least now we know why mom wanted you here so bad, Pat.”

He regrets it immediately, because then he looks over and Patrice seems like he may actually drop dead from the shock of this idea. It only gets worse from there, because after a moment Patrice’s expression suddenly becomes a hybrid between despair and mortified. He jumps up from the couch. “I’m going outside for a minute,” he announces, and proceeds to do just that.

All eyes are on Brad, now, but he just shrugs at everyone and keeps being confused. This was pretty much the last thing he was expecting when he got here yesterday night. Eventually it’s Jeff who breaks the silence.

“But you’re gay.”

“Yeah, I am, but he’s not,” Brad points out. “And I don’t date team mates, that’s not a thing.”

Now Melissa rolls her eyes at him. “I thought people are supposed to get smarter as they get older, but there goes that theory.”

“Why? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“You know in cartoons how sometimes their eyes turn into hearts?” Jeff puts in. “That’s both of you when you look at each other. God, Brad, you’ve always been a dumbass, but this is bad even for you.” Rebecca slaps his shoulder, but he just glares. “What? Have you _ever_ seen anyone with such a big gap in his social sense? Someone needs to say it, so I’m gonna… were you even paying attention to Bergeron just now? ‘We’re just friends’ is code for two things: a) we’re-actually-fucking-each-other-and-don’t-want-people-to-know-it-yet, or b) I-fucking-love-this-person-but-we’re-not-together-because-they-don’t-notice-me. This falls into category b. Do I need to dumb this down more for you?”

“I’ve seen him date girls,” Brad argues. “And he’s not shy, if you were right he would’ve said something.”

“So he’s bi,” Melissa decides. “And maybe he’s more shy than you think he is.”

“I’ve known him for ten years, he’s not shy.” Brad’s starting to get really annoyed with all of them. “I don’t want to keep talking about this, okay? And if I wanted you to fucking embarrass me in front of my friends I’d invite you to come watch team practices or something.”

Until now, Brad’s dad has just been looking out the window in silence. But then he suggests, very quietly, “Bradley, why don’t you go get him and bring him back in so your siblings can apologize.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Brad knows he’s actually being dismissed from the living room, but he’s not sure why, especially since his dad wasn’t even taking part in the argument. He shoves his feet into his boots without tying them and throws on his coat without zipping it, then stomps out into the snow. His ears and nose freeze immediately, but he doesn’t care as he follows Patrice’s tracks to the driveway. His friend is leaning against the car, talking on his phone in French. Brad doesn’t speak French, so he has no idea what’s being said, but he manages to gather that Patrice’s mother is on the other end. Beyond that, his friend’s face and tone of voice is melancholy in a way Brad’s rarely observed before.

Finally the conversation ends and Patrice stuffs his phone into his pocket. “Sorry I left like that… I just needed some space for a minute.”

“You, uh, you can come back in whenever you’re ready,” Brad tells him. “They’re going to apologize. And. I’m sorry for them, too, and how you got startled and shit.”

“It’s not your fault,” Patrice mumbles. “And it’s not their fault, either. I know you didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Do what on purpose?”

“Put me in an awkward spot. It’s probably not fair to say this now, because you’ll be trapped with me the whole drive back to Boston, but I’ve been in love with you for years now. I know you’ll still keep being my friend even though you don’t feel the same way, but I never wanted to make things uncomfortable by telling you because it could mess up our shift’s chemistry and the media would never leave either of us alone about it. I’m sorry you found out like this… I would’ve told you anyway eventually.”

Patrice looks like a bug that got stepped on and is slowly dying stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Between his family and his friend and everything that’s been said in the last twenty minutes, Brad thinks he’d be less disoriented if he got hit by a truck. He opens his mouth and closes it a bunch of times without saying anything, because that’s just the kind of idiot he is and he can’t think of anything that would sound right.

Finally, all he can come up with is, “We should go back in before you freeze, Pat.”

In what he hopes is a show of good faith, though, Brad reaches up to put his arm across Patrice’s shoulders for a side-hug as they walk. They don’t go back to the living room, though; Brad sits his friend at the kitchen table and manages to slip through the tangled mess of food appliances so he can make two mugs of instant hot chocolate.

“Mom, I know the whipped cream is for the pie, but can we have just a little bit?” Brad asks.

She looks at him suspiciously, then notices how sad Patrice is and nods. “Okay. But I’ll do it, because you don’t know how much ‘a little bit’ actually is.”

“It’s the powdered stuff, but I put in like three packets for yours, so it should taste pretty good,” Brad offers as he sets the mug on the table and sits down. “I know you still feel… kinda shitty, and I don’t know how to fix that, but… you were right earlier, I’m not going to stop being your friend or anything. I’m also going to fight anyone who says it’s ‘bad for team chemistry’ or whatever, especially asshole reporters. I guess I’m… mostly just surprised? Because I thought I knew everything about you, and, like, you’re not as loud as me but you’re not shy either, so… it’s okay, though. I get why you didn’t want to say anything. I probably wouldn’t, either.”

“Thanks, Brad.”

“You’re welcome. I think mom put more whipped cream on yours.”

Amazingly, Patrice chuckles a little, and that makes Brad feel better, too. “No, for being a good friend. And for not being stupid about this like I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid, Pat. You’re smarter than me and I’ve been dumb about plenty of other things.”

“Like Callahan and Komarov.”

“Yeah, like that.” Brad takes a sip and is instantly warm. “So like. You don’t have to answer this, but are you bi? I’ve only ever seen you dating women.”

“Not exactly, um. It’s not a gender thing. I’m just kind of interested in someone for them and it’s not that important what they are or how they identify.”

“Huh. Cool.”

They both take sips.

“You’re gay, though,” Patrice doesn’t-exactly-question.

“Oh hell yeah,” Brad confirms, nodding. “I’m so gay that when I get the stomach flu I puke rainbows. I thought you already knew that, with the media thing a few years ago.”

“I kind of did, but I also thought maybe they were blowing something out of proportion.”

“No. One of my neighbors sent a cell video of a guy leaving my apartment to some newspaper or something… and I kissed him on his way out. After that happened I moved halfway across Boston because I didn’t know who did it. It freaked me out.”

Patrice sighs. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be, the apartment I have now is way nicer,” Brad snorts. He slowly drinks the rest of his hot chocolate to buy himself a few more seconds before he addresses the elephant in the room. “So. Like. You also said something earlier about me not feeling the same way or whatever. But the truth is I don’t even know how I feel about most things. I never think about it, for me it just is the way it is and it’s not worth brain power. So I don’t actually know how I feel about you, Pat, because I never thought about it. It’s just like, we’re really close even when we’re not on the ice and I’ll never bitch about having you around.”

“Hm.”

“Aw, Pat, don’t look like that, I’m not done yet… the other thing is I don’t really think about like, romantic shit and relationships and whatever. I know I joke about it a lot but I try not to think that way. Relationships don’t really go well for me, especially before I got outed on the internet. These guys would be mad that I couldn’t drop everything for them if they needed it and also sometimes they expected me to just take them along for games or whatever, and that’s not how it works. So like. Um. A lot of my relationships aren’t relationships, they’re just one-night-stands and by now I don’t think about romantic things.”

“And professionalism, right?” Patrice puts in. “You never expected it from a team mate.”

“I never expect it from anyone. Most of my relationships that lasted longer than an hour weren’t great. There were a couple good ones, but I always fucked up in the end.”

“You’re more open with your emotions than almost anyone else I know,” Patrice frowns. “How could you mess up?”

“Most people don’t like grand gestures,” Brad grins, slightly self-depreciating. “Plus I never know when to shut up.”

Melissa comes into the kitchen, making him stop talking. She looks right at Patrice: “On behalf of the other two, we’re sorry we made you uncomfortable. If it makes you feel better, we also tortured Brad for a little bit.”

“Um… thank you?” Patrice replies. “But he doesn’t need to be tortured, the refs are all out to get him anyway.”

“You should be glad it’s me who came to talk,” Melissa offers in a dry tone, now addressing Brad. “Jeff was going to hold a fork to your neck and make you kiss him.”

“A fork?” Brad laughs.

“I’m assuming he meant with the tines jammed against your veins.”

“Oh, that makes more sense,” he nods. “Tell him what to go do with that fork for me?”

“I already did.”

“Forks aside,” Patrice breaks in, “I accept your apology. Thank you.”

Melissa pulls Patrice from his chair and hugs him. “I just want you to know, I’m also sorry you have to put up with my idiot brother so often.”

“He’s not that bad. The team wouldn’t get by without him and we all love him despite his best efforts,” Patrice smiles, hugging her back for a second before sitting down again.

“‘Despite my best efforts?’ I’m the most lovable guy in hockey,” Brad insists, which makes them both start laughing. Melissa finally goes back into the living room and Brad plays with his watch. It’s a much nicer present than the one he gave Patrice, and this seems like a good time to bring that up. “I wish I got you a better present.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because you got me something I needed, but I got you a shirt you already have.”

“But you probably put a lot of thought into mine,” Patrice points out. “You got me something you knew I’d really like.”

He’s giving Brad a strange look, one Brad doesn’t remember seeing before. It’s kind of longing, but softer, with light shades of tenderness and acceptance and even vague amusement colored over it. It takes Brad a second to figure this out: Patrice has never let him see this expression before, because Patrice has only explained himself within the past hour. This is a look reserved for a person Patrice really loves, and only that person gets to see it… and so it belongs to Brad. That makes him feel privileged and ashamed equally, because he’s not sure he deserves it.

Lightly, Brad plucks the sleeve of the sweatshirt, which Patrice had pulled on the second it was fully unwrapped. “Is this why…?” he asks, almost whispering. _Is this why you love me, because I do things just to make you smile._

Patrice seems to read his thoughts from his face, and nods slightly. “Yeah. This is why.”

It makes Brad think for a moment, while Patrice finishes the other mug of hot chocolate. He’s not used to this anymore, considering actual feelings and shit. Like, sure, he knows who his friends are, he knows which players on other teams really hate him, but it’s so unspecific. He stopped doing this a couple years after he became part of the NHL, because that was when… it wasn’t his last serious relationship, but it was his last serious relationship that made it past three or four months. Brad had royally fucked things up in ways he still refuses to think about, and afterwards he kinda… gave up. While he shouts and is very honest about how he feels, those are only current feelings, not long-lasting emotions on things.

But. Comparatively speaking, he can pretty easily separate this out. Because even as a joke (or at least, he thought these were jokes at the time), Brad constantly yells and tweets and whatever about how much he LOVES BERGY. And he hangs out with Patrice about twenty times more often than with any of his other team mates. Whenever he gets in trouble, Patrice is the first one he apologizes to. And then… things like this, with the sweatshirt that Patrice didn’t technically need, because Brad does things just to make him smile.

“Pat.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Brad…”

“The worst part of being a fucking idiot is that now I have to admit Jeff was right about something.”

“Um…”

“I hate telling Jeff he’s right.”

“Why, what’s it about?”

“Pretty much before I came outside and got you, he went off on me and called me a dumbass for being in love with you and not realizing it. Thinking it over just now, he’s right about all three of those things, and now I have to fucking admit it to him.”

“Okay but… I feel like I should be worried that it took you five minutes to draw this conclusion,” Patrice answers. “Usually it’s not that quick.”

“What, for me to figure things out?”

“No, for… for anyone to figure out they love somebody else… maybe you just think you do because you want me to feel better.”

That’s when Brad’s mother comes over, grabs both their wrists, and folds their hands together on the table. “Neither of you are giving yourselves or each other enough credit,” she scolds. “Bradley, if you don’t stop calling yourself stupid you’ll never even _sniff_ another olive at Christmas dinner for as long as I live. Patrice, if you keep trying to punish yourself, I’ll call your mother and have her read you the riot act. Now, both of you stop being thick and talk to each other like adults.”

“But you just told me to stop calling myself stupid and then said I’m thick,” Brad protests.

“I’m your mother.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Brad, this will probably end quicker if we just do what she says,” Patrice points out.

“Ugh…” Brad groans. He also doesn’t let go of Patrice’s hand. “Um. Okay. So, what should I say, mom?”

She rolls her eyes at him, and so does Patrice. “First, you’re oblivious.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a good place to start. Pat, I’m sorry for being a jackass this whole time and not realizing that I love you as more than just friends. You’re perfect and beautiful and I’m literally anything else except those two things, but we should start going out on dates and shit after the holidays are over.”

Patrice tries and fails to keep himself from bursting out laughing, eventually resting his forehead on the table. Brad’s mom is still glaring, though: “And…?”

Brad groans a second time. “And my mother is always right, even when I hate it.” That just makes Patrice laugh harder.

“Good,” she nods, and finally leaves them alone.

“Brad,” Patrice finally offers once he’s got a grip on himself. “I just want you to know I forgive you for being a jackass, and I’ll definitely go on dates and shit with you after the holidays are over.”

Now it’s Brad’s turn to laugh. He ends up leaning in to rest the side of his head on Patrice’s shoulder, and it feels right in a way he probably couldn’t describe if someone ever asks him about it. Patrice leans his head on top of Brad’s, and they’re still holding hands on the table.

Brad thinks for awhile, perfectly fine to just stay like this until his neck will inevitably cramp up. He remembers bad habits from his prior relationships, like the fridge thing, which will probably make Patrice crazy so he should try to work on them. But there are others that he won’t have to worry about because Patrice already knows him so well - the first thing that comes to mind is how he would bombard past boyfriends with war stories from hockey, which drove them insane after awhile, but Patrice already knows all those stories and there’s no need to bring them up. (Of course there was always the issue that 90% of the time Patrice had a starring role in those war stories, which wasn’t usually appreciated by the guy listening to it because… yeah, Brad never shuts up about Patrice to anyone who stands still more than two seconds near him.)

It’s a whole avenue of thought that he’s blocked off for years until now, after failing at an almost-three-year relationship with Kyle. They’d been great for each other in some ways, and had really loved each other, but the life goals of a hockey player don’t necessarily match the life goals of an investment banker, and it got to the point eventually where they were asking (screaming more like) why they got together in the first place, why they thought this could work. There’d also been a greater age gap between Brad and Kyle - almost nine years - so it happened too often that they didn’t see eye-to-eye on things. Brad was young and stupid, while Kyle was more experienced and generally more intelligent at everything.

Reflecting on Kyle, Brad also compares it with the scattering of short relationships after, and realizes that even though he never knew when to shut up he was still terrible at communicating. But it’s not like that with Patrice… they always talk about everything, “we did this in this last play and it worked,” “we should talk to the rookies about this-and-such-a-thing,” “we don’t do as well when we let this happen.” And it’s already translated to their friendship for as long as they’ve _been_ friends, which is probably why Brad never realized that issue until now. He didn’t know he sucked at communicating with everyone else, because he always talks to Patrice about everything.

Brad’s not sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, so long as he keeps this in mind and keeps being good at communicating with Patrice, his biggest downfall in previous romantic relationships isn’t much of a threat to him. But on the other, Patrice earlier today admitted that he’s been in love with Brad for years, and so for however long that actually is, Brad’s been looking right past the man he’s supposed to be with and making the same mistakes over and over again.

“Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“How many years?”

“How many years what?”

“That you wanted me for.”

“Oh. Um. Six or seven, I think. Why?”

“Because that’s six or seven years that I’ve been too dumb to realize you’re perfect for me, and I’m sorry for that.”

Patrice chuckles, and it’s like music. He shuffles the way they’re both sitting and lightly kisses the top of Brad’s head. “That’s okay, I forgive you.”

“Also if there’s ever something I won’t talk about, you need to make me, even if I get mad at you for it.”

“Okay…?”

“Trust me.”

“I do, and I will.”

“I promise I’ll explain that better later, when there’s not a bunch of people eavesdropping.”

“Okay, Brad.”

“You’re the ones choosing to sit in here with us,” his grandma points out from the stove.

“Yeah, it’s not as bad as if we went in there,” Brad replies, indicating the living room. “And it’s too cold to go sit in the car.” He leans into Patrice again and gets comfortable. “So, like, what about the team?”

Patrice snorts. “Z and Krej have been badgering me to tell you since the beginning of last season. Everyone already knows, we’ll just be making it official.”

“Huh. That makes it easy for us, then.”

“Yeah. We could just get a picture of the two of us passed out on my couch together at home and show it around the locker room, they’d all know what it means.”

Brad grins, even though at this angle Patrice can’t see it. “Or one of us kissing.”

“Yeah, or that.”

“Then that’s what we should do,” he decides.

“What, right now?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Because we haven’t actually kissed yet, and that’s not something I want on camera,” Patrice answers quietly, sounding slightly embarrassed. “The first one should just be for us. People can have the second one to make fun of.”

That actually makes a lot of sense, and Brad has an idea. He gets up from the table and pulls Patrice after him, towards where their coats and boots are. “Come on, we’re going outside.”

“But you just said it’s too cold out!”

“I don’t care anymore, we’re going outside.” Fuck the cold.

Boots, coats, hats, gloves, like gearing up for a game except less fun because this is them protecting their skin from being shredded by the icy winds outside. Winter in Canada is such a bitch when the sun’s going down. But, that all aside, Brad is on a mission right now. He’s got to get Patrice to kiss him without it feeling weird and forced. Immediately, they’re both shivering, so they start briskly walking in circles around the house, which is… not a great start to what’s supposed to be a romantic moment. Okay. Think, Brad… he can be romantic if he wants, it just takes a little bit.

Once they feel a little less like popsicles (or have at least learned to ignore it for the time being), they stop and look out at the trees behind the house. There’s more light from the kitchen window behind them than from the sky, now, but that’s okay, they can still reasonably see. Despite being the shorter of the two, Brad puts his arms around Patrice from behind and starts talking quietly. He says things about hunting and camping out in the woods, that it’s really calm and peaceful and at night he always drifts right off to sleep without trying. Sometimes during hunting season he’ll go days without seeing a single deer, but it’s okay because he’s out in nature and just enjoying getting to slow down for a little bit.

Very easily, this transitions to that time however long ago that he offered to take Patrice on a hunting trip with him, and how now he’d still like to do that someday but they don’t have to hunt if Patrice doesn’t want to. They can go out with a tent and bug spray and some other things and just stay in the trees for a few days, being part of nature. (Even not able to see his face, Brad can already feel Patrice starting to smile.) It would be a nice way to spend some time away from the world during the off-season.

Slowly, Brad turns him around, then pulls off a glove and reaches through the neck of Patrice’s coat. He tugs out the hood - the hood of the new Nordiques sweatshirt - and pulls it up over Patrice’s toque, then cinces the drawstrings slightly: “Are you warm enough, now?”

Patrice nods. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet and still and perfect as they meet for this kiss. The cold doesn’t matter, because Brad’s here to keep Patrice warm. The dark isn’t important, because Patrice brightens his life in ways most people would probably never think of. Brad tries to keep track of these dumb, sappy thoughts, specifically so he can tell his friend - no, boyfriend - about them later on. A tiny corner of his brain is cheering, too, because he succeeded at his mission for a romantic kiss away from so many eyes. And Patrice was right, like always, because this moment is just for them. It’s slow and unhurried, and it ends in a similarly unrushed way, with their foreheads leaning together through their hats and exhaling tiny gusts of warm against each other’s chins.

 _I love you, Brad._ It’s said with a look instead of words, and even with just the window by now to illuminate things, Brad still sees it. He wonders if Patrice has always given him this look, and maybe it was only when he was facing away or if he just didn’t realize it until now. Then Brad also decides it doesn’t really matter, and just gives the same look back, _I love you, too,_ also without words. And it’s perfect.

Going inside after, Brad realizes he didn’t account for people actually _watching_ through the window, but as he’s shucking his outerwear and giving it an angry look, his grandma lets him know she shooed everyone away so they couldn’t stare. Then she hugs them both and gives them cookies, even though his mom says dinner will be ready in ten minutes and they’ll spoil their appetites as if they’re five-year-olds with tiny stomachs.

Dinner produces exactly the amount of mayhem, teasing and chirping that Brad expected. Jeff is the worst, of course, but Rebecca’s almost as bad about it - the two of them shamelessly demand to know how it was to suck face while trying to keep their noses and chins from freezing off. Brad retaliates indirectly by reminding Jeff that he, at least, is still allowed to have olives with dinner, and then stuffs a handful into his mouth to rub it in with as petty and childish an expression he can put onto his face.

Pie for dessert; his mom distributes the whipped cream, because there’s only one can and she needs to stop Jeff and Brad from fighting over it. Once the pie is distributed, though, things calm down for a couple minutes because everyone’s too busy eating it to make fun of each other. After that, the topic goes to hockey for a little bit, which is something they can all talk about here. Brad tells that story of Krecji losing one of his teeth and Boychuk giving it back to him last season; Patrice recounts some lesson he gave to one of this year’s rookies about why pranking teammates is bad and then the next day Brad duct-taped all of Acciari’s stuff to the locker room ceiling right before a practice.

After dinner, they all just hang out in the living room, except for Patrice because he’s helping Brad’s mom with all the cleanup. There’s some movie on the tv, a different one from before, that nobody’s watching. Brad’s not really listening to the sluggish conversations, either; he’s still thinking about kissing Patrice outside in the cold. He’ll say this later, when they’re alone, but indestructible watch notwithstanding, Brad’s favorite Christmas present this year is getting to have Patrice.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments.


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